Heresy

(written to Killing Me Killing You by Sentenced)

“ I've distilled every thing to one single principle: win or die. – Marquise de Marteuil, ‘Dangerous Liasons’

“I’m down to just one thing..and I'm startin' to scare myself” – NiN, ‘Something I Can Never Have’
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“Well?”

“Three days, no stopping. I made sure of it.”

His face changed then, thick crimson lips wrapping themselves into a cruel smile.

“And?”

“She’s exhausted. I prop her up, work her over, send her out again. She’s still standing, but she’s barely able to speak.”

Cattwyn shrugged.

“Excellent…and the General?”

“They sent him to the Basin, as I’ve overheard.”

“And where is my daughter now?”

Cattwyn hesitated slightly.

“I don’t know.”

“What…do you mean you don’t know…?”

The succubus shrunk back slightly and spoke hurriedly in protest.

“She’s not at rest! For all I know she’s gone back to fight of her own accord.”

“With him?”

“I can’t deny the possibility, but they will be focused on the fight, not each other.”

“How can you be certain? You risk my wrath, Cattwyn, and your neck, if you’re wrong.”

She nodded.

*****
In truth, Fireflower was alone at that exact moment. Heresy had found her, incoherent and wandering around Shattrath in a state of such disarray that she stopped and looked at her, disbelieving.

Heresy never missed the scent of a warlock, even till now. But this one, this girl whom she’d come to regret bringing to the Horde so many times, whom had endangered and betrayed her as thanks, was unique among them, for the demon’s blood – the blood of her father – which ran through her veins.

But this careworn and shambling figure surely could not be the girl she remembered.

“Elzebeth?”

The warlock blinked and looked up at her, frowning slightly.

“..bossy..” she mumbled, softly, saying no more, and continued walking, as if pulled towards away to something.

Heresy watched her a moment more, puzzled. The warlock walked with her helmet in her hands, her head exposed, and the sight of a young but haggard face, disheveled hair, and soot-stained cheeks were a far cry from the sleek and self-controlled little witch she remembered from Orgrimmar.

There was something else….

Heresy sniffed deeply, and held her breath, thinking.

Familiar….

“I’ll be damned. He’s back…I’d have thought him dead by now….” The rogue bit her lip, thinking quickly before dashing after the girl, deciding not to bring it up just yet.

“Elzebeth….Fireflower.”

The warlock finally stopped and turned, looking at her wearily; dark circles lined her eyes, her lips were parched and her shoulders drooped slightly.

“I never thought I would ask this question but are you ..are you allright?”

The warlock nodded without speaking.

“Where is Mazzy?”

Fireflower looked around her and shrugged. “Dunno, walkies…wander..curious Mazzy. Mazzy…I am fond. Do you know fond? Fond is like..”

Heresy shook her head, listening to her words, to her speech. Something seemed wrong with all of this; for one, she never would be seen without that dog…Heresy knew it; for him to be away from her, and her seemingly so unconcerned was nothing short of strange.

“Fire..”

“Huh?”

“Maybe you better come with me, hm?” The elder rogue scratched her head, sighing. The facemask she wore was powerfully imbued and allowed her to see but it itched terribly sometimes. That..and she was trying to figure out why she cared, and how she even expected the warlock to follow her.

“Why? Bossy always boss-bossy..” Fire’s face twisted up into a strange mixture of sorrow and exhaustion as she sighed deeply.

“Yes yes…because you’re tired? And Mazzy appears lost? Come on, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to but at least get out of the way..you’ll get run over standing out here like this..”

The warlock shrugged, too tired to argue. That in itself was a shock.

“No, want to fight, H’rsy.”

“This isn’t right”, the rogue thought to herself. “Something is..so wrong here…” she drummed her fingers on the hilt of one of her daggers thoughtfully before walking closer to the warlock.

Despite herself, Heresy wrapped on leather-clad arm around the girl and frowned, deep in thought about why this warlock was in such a state..and why she smelled suspiciously like a frost mage.

As Fireflower felt the rogue’s arm around her, Heresy swore she saw her lip tremble like a child on the verge of tears. At first she felt a burst of warmth for the little warlock, but she had to shake such sentiment off; Elzebeth wasn’t human, she never would be, even if she had moments where she seemed to look, and act, so much like one. This had been Heresy’s error all those years ago in thinking somehow that human core of her could be brought to the front and silence, once and for all the cold, and consciousless presence that existed within her as well. No longer had the rogue the time or patience to even try to save a warlock; she’d never succeeded before, and she wasn’t going to try again now.

As much as she felt in the burst of confusion and compassion for the tormented creature, she could only squeeze her lightly, and let her go.

“The Libertines will be in Karazhan tomorrow, warlock. If you need help …”

Fireflower managed a feeble but disgusted snort.

“Well….finding Mazzy then.” The rogue sighed. “You will know where to find us.”

But Elzebeth had already begun walking away again, a few steps distance between them when Heresy heard her speak in tired, soft tones, her silken slippers making soft ‘hush-hush’noises on the stones as
she shuffled away.

“Mazzy? Mazzyyyy…come on, its time, to go, its fun to make them run..its fun...I am fond..”

Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

Heresy looked down a moment, and shook her head, before turning and making her way home to Scryer’s Terrace.

She’d wandered some minutes, woozily making her way to the battlemasters to pick up assignments, when she saw Zik sitting against the cool stones of the city, in the shade. He was leaned back against them, eyes closed slightly, holding his staff upright in one hand.

As she approached, he opened one eye.

“Good Evening.” He said simply, and nodded.

She nodded back, in silence.

“You’re tired.”

She nodded again.

“You’re going back?”

“I’m fond.”

“You’re too tired.”

Fireflower glared at him, narrowing her eyes.

“I’m just saying, maybe rest a little while…then go more, if you want. Come..sit here a moment.”

She finally nodded reluctantly and sat down on the grass next to him; rubbing her eyes, but within seconds those exhausted eyes were closed, and with a tiny whimpering frown, Elzebeth finally curled up on the ground with her head rested against his leg.

One little white hand clutching the fabric of his robe, she drifted off to sleep for the first time in three days.

He carefully put his staff aside, and tentatively reached out; pausing in mid-air one moment before finally stroking her hair gently and in silence, lost in his own thoughts.

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"I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it." - Mae West
Fireflower's Words of Wisdom: http://i200.photobucket.com/albums/a...ompilation.jpg